


Pretty

by TurkFox



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Feminine Luke, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurkFox/pseuds/TurkFox
Summary: Pretty. That’s what everyone calls Michael. It always makes Luke burn with jealousy, but he’s never quite been able to put his finger on why. After all, most of the time they’re calling Luke hot, sexy, irresistible. It should be enough. He supposes it is, after a fashion. Somehow, though, it’s not what he wants.





	Pretty

They’ve been working in the studio on and off for what feels like the last century, but is actually only a little over six weeks. Luke learned his lesson during the second album: studio days and party nights really don’t mix very well. It was alright for the others, who were often just recording an instrumental part, but more often than not Luke found he’d have a really heavy vocal day right after a heavy night of drinking and partying. After a few too many wasted recording sessions where the strain of the night before was evident in his voice, he’d learned to time his nights out a little better. Nowadays, he’s come to appreciate a quiet night in before those vocal days, secretly quite enjoying swapping beer and dancing for pizza and Netflix.

Sprawled out across the sofa after the studio day from hell, Luke scrolls through his Netflix suggestions page while he waits for the pizza delivery guy to arrive. He’s tired and doesn’t think he’ll even be able to stay awake very long, so he chooses something at random from the list and lets it start to play. He mentally congratulates himself on his choice as the title screen of a documentary about beauty pageants in Venezuela fades in. It won’t require much of his attention, and there’s the bonus of lots of hot girls in bikinis.

Half an hour and two thirds of a pizza later, he drifts off to sleep just for a moment and wakes to the image of a pageant contestant waiting to be judged.

She’s tall, would be even without those high heels. With them, she may even be as tall as Luke. Her blonde hair hangs almost to her waist, even as curled as it is now. She flutters her eyelashes and gives a coy smile as the host asks her question, then laughs softly and casts her gaze downwards as she gives her reply.

Luke doesn’t know why she makes him feel like this, because he doesn’t know exactly what it is she makes him feel, but it’s such an intense sensation that he can’t handle it. He switches the TV off and goes straight to bed, hoping the feeling will subside.

It doesn’t. Not really.

After a night of restless sleep, he wakes to an anxious, knotted feeling in his chest. Last night, he thinks, he could have passed that sensation off as some sort of crush. But now? This wasn’t any sort of crush he’d experienced before. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was fear.

As he drags himself out of bed, he hopes to feel a little better soon.

 

 

 

 

Nothing feels right.

It doesn’t matter how long Luke spends fussing over his hair, because even if he gets it to look okay, it doesn’t _feel_ right. He decides to let it grow, in case that helps at all.

It does, a little.

 

 

 

 

The second time it happens, he’s at a party in LA. He doesn’t really know the host, but as far as he can make out she’s a friend-of-a-friend of Ashton’s. She’s one of those rich YouTubers with more money than sense, apparently, which is evident to Luke as soon as he steps through the front door and gets his first glimpse of the décor. He raises an eyebrow at Ashton, who reassures him that the well-known DJ playing a set later on will be worth putting up with the garish prints and tasteless statues for a few hours.

Luke finds a good spot near the bar and sets up camp in an armchair, hoping to avoid most of the conversation and just enjoy the music. It works for most of the evening, until just after that DJ’s set when Ashton brings over some girls who he informs Luke are _huge fans._ Luke exchanges pleasantries and small talk for as long as he can bear it, before excusing himself and leaving in the direction of the bathroom. Once out of sight, he takes a detour through the kitchen and out onto the balcony.

He’s not the only one out there, but there’s space at one end near a couple of girls who’re smoking. He leans on the railing, smiling to himself as he admires the view.

“Pretty cool, huh?” A voice next to him interrupts his thoughts. He turns, coming face to face with a girl not unlike the one in the pageant documentary. He barely has time to register the tiara amidst her loose, blonde curls before his head starts to spin.

He chokes out a shaky “yes” and gives her a half-smile as he pushes his way back into the busy kitchen and through to the hallway. He manages to lean against the wall just in time, before his legs can give way and dump him on the floor. He sits himself down carefully and leans his head back, eyes closing as he tries to breathe deeply.

It’s the same feeling as before, and he still doesn’t know what it is, but he does know he has to get out of here. Thankfully, Ashton appears a few moments later and seems to accept his reassurances that he’s “probably just getting a cold or something”. He calls Luke a taxi and waits outside with him until it arrives.

“I like your hair like that,” he tells Luke as they sit out on the front steps of the building. Luke smiles back at him, which seems to suffice.

When he’s struggling to fall asleep that night, he remembers Ashton’s words and feels a little bit less afraid.

 

 

 

 

He’s trying to dress for a night out, but even when an outfit looks okay, it doesn’t _feel_ right. He decides to wear his pink lace shirt, in case that helps at all.

It does, a little.

 

 

 

 

His schedule is packed out for a solid week and a half, so when his alarm wakes him after only three hours of sleep it feels a little bit like he’s already dead. He’s due in the studio at 9am, and it’s already 8.15am. He doesn’t bother to shave, stands under the shower just long enough to feel clean, pulls on the first outfit he finds and starts to walk.

There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks from the studio, and he’s been walking fast enough that he can spare a few minutes to stop. It’s probably for the best, because he doesn’t think his bandmates would appreciate a jet-lagged, overtired monster sitting in the corner all day while they’re trying to work. He mumbles his order to the boy behind the counter, hands over the money, and then shuffles down to the end to wait for his drink.

A couple of minutes later, his name is called and he moves forward to collect his order. He reaches for the cup first, and as he looks up to thank the barista, he momentarily forgets how to breathe. She’s tall, with long blonde curls tied back in a ponytail and a smile just like the pageant girl’s.

It’s that feeling in his chest again.

He thanks her and gets out of there as quickly as he can, walking as fast as his feet will carry him and not stopping until he’s in the lobby of the studio building.

He still can’t breathe. He feels the panic rising inside him and there’s nothing he can do to make it stop. He steadies himself against a pillar with his free hand and closes his eyes as he waits for the world to stop spinning. An icy hand closes around his heart and begins to squeeze. At least now he can put a name to the feeling: panic.

He’s vaguely aware of someone taking the cup from his hand and of an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair. Forcing his eyes open, he finds himself face to face with a kneeling Michael. He can’t quite focus on the words, so he lets the softness of Michael’s voice wash over him instead. He lets Michael take both of his hands and tries to match the slow, exaggerated breathing that Luke assumes he’s supposed to be emulating.

He can’t take his eyes off Michael’s beautiful, gentle smile. He stares, transfixed, as Michael’s tongue flickers out across his perfect, full lower lip.

_He’s so pretty._

Pretty. That’s what everyone calls Michael. It always makes Luke burn with jealousy, but he’s never quite been able to put his finger on why. After all, most of the time they’re calling Luke hot, sexy, irresistible. It should be enough. He supposes it is, after a fashion. Somehow, though, it’s not what he wants.

He wants to be pretty, too.

And just like that, the icy hand releases its vice-like grip and he can breathe again.

The pageant girl, the party guest, the barista. The lace shirt. His hair.

This isn’t about a crush. This is about him.

He doesn’t want to date those girls. He wants to be like them.

He wants to be all soft curls and shy smiles.

He wants to be _pretty._

Michael doesn’t push him for an explanation. He hands Luke back his coffee and makes sure he’s okay, then stands and continues on into the studio, giving Luke a moment to gather himself before he joins the others. Luke ducks into the bathroom and splashes some water on his face. As he dries it and stands before the mirror, he takes a good look at the image staring back at him.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Luke doesn’t want to climb out of his skin. Now that he knows what’s wrong, he knows how to make things better. He takes a sip of his coffee and walks through to where the others are waiting for him, grateful to Michael for not mentioning what’s just happened. He’s sure Calum and Ashton must know that something happened, because he’d seen the redness of his eyes in his reflection, but they don’t say anything either.

When they’ve finished for the day, Calum suggests they all go out for dinner and they eventually settle on a sushi place not far from Ashton’s apartment. None of them feel particularly clean or suitably dressed, so they agree to meet there in an hour.

 

 

 

 

While dressing for dinner, Luke stops to record a short clip for his Instagram story. He uses the filter with the long, fluttering eyelashes and pouts a little into the camera, in case that helps at all.

It does, a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was longer but I decided part of it would be better suited to the second chapter, so I've put it there instead!


End file.
